


three meals a day is all it takes

by tender_sushijima



Series: atsuhina [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adults, Developing Relationship, Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Food as a Metaphor for Love, I just needed a reason to prioritize meals, Insomnia, M/M, Neighbors, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_sushijima/pseuds/tender_sushijima
Summary: Having three main mealtimes is routine. Letting in a new person to your life isn't, but Atsumu doesn't make it difficult for Shoyo.A short story of how two distant hearts grow fonder and closer to home simply by having meals together.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: atsuhina [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211528
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	three meals a day is all it takes

It’s the blond hair that catches Shoyo’s attention. Glowing under the beam of the sun, he looks like he’s got a halo on his head, and Shoyo thought his own neon orange was blinding. He didn’t expect to run into the new neighbor first thing in the morning, much less being talked to about the weather.

“It rained again,” the neighbor says to him as they wait for the elevator. He’s looking over Shoyo’s head at the window, where the vestiges of last night’s downpour left a smattering of droplets on the glass. “Good thing, ain’t it?”

Shoyo nods with a hum, not sure what kind of response would be appropriate. Anything more than a ‘yes’ would seem like he’s trying hard to maintain a conversation, and not saying anything at all would seem rude. Shoyo’s not rude, but he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone. He hasn’t been for a while now.

“It’s unbearably hot lately.”

Another nod, another hum.

A pause. “I’m living in 10-7, in case you didn’t know. Just moved in last week.”

Shoyo nods again, this time glancing up because it’d be overly rude to not acknowledge him after two noncommittal hums. He kind of wishes he didn’t, because the neighbor is looking at him with a vague smile. It’s not quite amused but it’s neither polite, something toeing the line between entertained and courteous. Regardless, it adds to the blinding effect that he has, which makes Shoyo turn away.

“Not the friendly type, are you?”

A muscle on Shoyo’s cheek twitches. Any apology for his hostile behavior evaporates at the semi provocation. “I just woke up five minutes ago,” he snaps without much thought, then immediately regrets it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve had those mornings too.”

A thousand apologies flood to the tip of Shoyo’s tongue, half of them for his unkind thoughts about his neighbor and the other balling up to form another to be uttered. “… I’m sorry.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, come have breakfast with me.”

Shoyo’s head snaps up without much prompting, simply powered by sheer shock. “Huh?”

His neighbor regards him with a sunny smile, the curve of his lips pushing up his eyes into twin crescents – a genuine smile. “I don’t like to eat alone and I don’t like to buy takeout,” he only says, leaving the rest of the sentiment to be filled in by Shoyo. He then holds out a hand. “I’m Atsumu. Miya Atsumu. Nice to meet you.”

It’s the childish pouts that makes Shoyo want to kiss him. At first, he thinks it’s just Miya-san’s way of teasing him, because Miya-san could tell within the first few weeks of their friendship that Shoyo can’t resist his request to bake him brownies, but a few weeks is enough for Shoyo to figure out that Miya-san’s often pouting, whether or not brownies are involved. It’s almost endearing - ‘almost’, because Shoyo doesn’t know where exactly they both stand.

“Shoyo, what shall we have for lunch? Chinese or western?”

The curl of fingers on his hip startles him and he nearly drops the packet of cereal he’s pouring into an empty container. “Miya-san, don’t scare me like that! I could’ve dropped the cereal,” he scolds, but only halfheartedly.

Miya-san sticks out his tongue playfully, his hand running up Shoyo’s spine and resting on his shoulder. “I’m craving for some sticky, creamy cheese. What about you?”

There’s a slight tremor on top of Shoyo’s deliberate shaking of the cereal packet, which has never been there until just recently. It’s unnoticeable unless you lean closer and force yourself to see it, but with their proximity, Shoyo thinks Miya-san could feel it under his palm. He hopes his more aggressive shaking would hide it. “Doesn’t that answer your question already?” he quips.

“I don’t want to be the only one making decisions in this house, Shoyo.”

Something about the way Miya-san says _this house_ gets to him. It’s fortunate that all the cereal has been safely deposited in the container because the tremor in Shoyo’s hands explodes into a jolt and he drops the packet in the sink. Miya-san’s hand shoots out to keep the container from toppling over, which brings him even closer to Shoyo in a quasi-hug.

“Now, you’re the one scaring me, Shoyo. Did you not sleep well last night?”

The burn on Shoyo’s cheeks travel down and around his neck, inflamed as soon as he sees Miya-san’s puckered lips mere inches away from his skin. He brushes away Miya-san’s hand on his shoulder, stepping to the side to put some distance. Not too much or else it’ll seem awkward, but not too little so as to invite him to reach for Shoyo again. “I’m starving,” he replies curtly.

It’s not a complete lie, but if the weeks of having spent more time together are anything to go by, it’s obviously a coverup. Shoyo knows that Miya-san knows it, and he knows that Miya-san won’t mention it out loud. He much prefers to paw at it like a cat would a new toy until Shoyo gives in and reveals it himself.

“So… western, it is?”

Shoyo gnaws on his lips when he wills his gaze to meet Miya-san's, before trailing down to his lips. The pinkness of Miya-san's lips shouldn’t be so mesmerizing to look at, not after Shoyo learned that they're that way because he always puts on lip balm. Cherry-flavored lip balm - the kind that leaves a shimmery matte gloss, the type that invites another pair of lips to taste its sweetness.

“Pasta,” Shoyo says with a nod, forcing his stiff body to move as he tells it to.

“Pasta,” Miya-san agrees as Shoyo reaches into the sink to discard the packet, not budging even as he stores away the container of cereal and starts to wash the dishes.

It’s the lilting singing voice that convinces Shoyo to stay with Atsumu. He can’t recall how long ago when they’d agreed to be mutually on first-name basis, but it’s not too long ago. Shoyo could still recall the first time Atsumu hummed to a melody, the melody to which words started being included a couple of hours later, and the words which eventually carved themselves into permanence in Shoyo’s mind. He’s never thought much about tattoos, but he has the sudden urge to look up nearby parlors to ask for pricing details. Shoyo reckoned that it's around that time that Atsumu made him drop all formalities.

“Shoyo, here.”

A mug appears under his nose, the warm air fanning over his eyelashes as a minty scent wafts deliciously. He pulls his hands out of the blanket wrapped around him and carefully takes the mug. Shoyo doesn’t restrict the wide stretch of his lips, relishing in the tactile and olfactory comfort. “Thank you, Atsumu,” he mumbles nasally.

“I take it that we’re having porridge tonight? Or something soupy and filling?”

“As long as there’s not much chewing involved, I’m happy with anything that you make.”

The smile that blooms on Atsumu’s face is a surprise, as it’s tinted pink and a little hesitant, almost as if he’s shy. Shoyo keeps his eyes trained on Atsumu as he joins him on the sofa, not wanting to miss out on the sight. Another mug of the same size appears small in his large hands. “Are you sure? There’s a reason why I always make you cook, you know?” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

Shoyo lightly bumps his shoulder against Atsumu’s. “There’s nothing that a little salt and pepper can’t solve,” he jokes, which earns him another smile, but unbridled. “Don’t stay up late again later, okay? Sleep early once in a while; it doesn’t cost a penny.”

“I don’t feel safe when I sleep.”

“Neither does going about your day lacking it.”

There’s no answer from Atsumu while Shoyo sips his tea, nothing after he places his mug on the low table. Atsumu is pouting again, and Shoyo takes it as his cue to poke him on the side. “Ah, don’t do that!” Atsumu exclaims with wide eyes. “I’m being serious, Shoyo.”

“I’m also being serious, Atsumu. You can’t keep sleeping at three or four in the morning. It’s unhealthy!”

A defeated exhale comes out of Atsumu, deflating his posture. “Fine, I’ll sleep early, but on one condition.”

“What condition?”

“You sleep next to me.”

If he hadn’t put the mug away, Shoyo would’ve dropped it like he does most things. There’s still a long way for him before he breaks that habit, but if he did drop the mug, that would’ve sealed the deal between them. They’re two people whose homes are right next to each other, yet the proverbial distance that stands in their way is what’s been keeping them apart. No matter how many times they go to each other’s and have their meals together, they can’t seem to close that distance and meet halfway.

Until today, that is, and Shoyo thinks that he doesn’t need to drop the mug for Atsumu to know that he feels the same. They’ve known each other long enough to know that much.

“Okay, I’ll sleep next to you,” Shoyo says. He’s not sure if the heat pooling in his head is from the fever or the prospect of sharing the same bed as Atsumu, but what he’s sure about is that the next spike in temperature is out of embarrassment. “We can’t kiss, because I don’t want to pass the fever to you.”

The tips of Atsumu’s ears are a magnificent red, and Shoyo can only imagine the rest of his face as he abruptly heads to the kitchen. “I wouldn’t want to catch your fever either,” he mutters over his shoulder, his voice stilted and missing the languid suaveness. “Who else will take care of you if I’m sick too?”

Atsumu's bad at maintaining a front, because Shoyo hears him sing no longer than two minutes later, louder and more confident. He sits on the sofa contentedly, the warmth of the mug in his hands the same as the one in his chest, and the embrace of the blanket a prelude to the arms that will keep him safe for many nights in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Like the tag said, I just needed a reason to prioritize my meals.
> 
> Three entirely different vibes occurred as I wrote this in one sitting over two hours, each of them perfectly assigned to each part:  
> [first part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYRJ-ryPEu0)  
> [second part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-i6QfXbbV4s)  
> [third part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su9ABA6RcV8)
> 
> [insta](https://www.instagram.com/tender_sushijima/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/tender_salami)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and may you always have wonderful and filling meals.


End file.
